He appreciated that she had changed the topic—and he was pretty sure she’d done so because she understood their conversation was probing too close to old wounds.
Wounds that maybe weren’t as scarred over as he’d thought.
He leaned over her a bit to get a better look at the landscape. They were passing an abandoned gas station in snow-covered, decaying Trenton, Pennsylvania. “Nah. I personally think you should wait until we’re on the plane.”
“Or even off the plane.” She nodded decisively. “Yeah. Today’s picture will be of Florida.”
That sounded just fine to him. Enough with winter for a while. Enough with morose thoughts of the past. He was ready for Florida.
* * *
“Ladies and gentlemen, those of you in the gate area awaiting news of flight 2672 to Tampa, I’m sorry to inform you that it has been canceled.”
Gia thought for a moment she might cry.
The answer to that impulse was to move. To distract herself.
She tried to get up as the gate agent droned on about the storm that had hit New York taking an unexpected dip south but found herself stymied by a large, heavy arm settling over her shoulders.
“Hey, it’s okay. It’s only Monday. We’ll get there.”
She geared up to specify that it was Monday night, that the storm was rolling in, apparently bent on stalking them, and that there was no cause for such calm optimism. But as she opened her mouth, it was like instead of expelling words from that orifice, her body got confused and sent a tear out of her left eyeball.
It was a fast-moving one that took her by surprise. She swiped at it angrily, but it did no good; he’d seen it.
“Oh, come on now, sweetheart, don’t cry.”
“Don’t call me sweetheart.” The clapback was automatic, and it had the effect of bringing her back to herself, her teary fragility hardening into something more familiar. She twisted away from his arm and stood.
His optimism was replaced by something, too, something stonier and less kind. “So help me, Gia, if you’re on your way over there to rip that gate agent a new one, you’re on your own from here.”
The sudden switch was jarring. She had indeed been getting up to speak to the agent, but she must have still been weak enough, unshielded enough, that his threat reached some part of her that was still vulnerable.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” she snapped instead and turned on her heel.
A few minutes later, after texting Wendy about the delay, she stood staring at herself in the mirror.
Why was she acting like this? None of this was Bennett’s fault. And he’d been right—it wasn’t the gate agent’s fault, either.
She jumped when her phone dinged with Wendy’s return text.
Seriously do not worry about it. The tailor says she will fast-track the dress whenever you get here. I’ve shown her pictures, and she says any work will be minor. So relax. I’m sure she can even do it Saturday morning if need be. Enjoy being snowed in with Bennett.
Then there was a string of eggplant emoji. Gia rolled her eyes.
Not sure Bennett’s my type.
Which meant I’m not sure I’m Bennett’s type, but she wasn’t going to cop to that. Anyway, she took Wendy’s larger point. Gia was known for what her friends called her manizing ways, and she was unapologetic about it. She worked hard, and she didn’t do drugs or pop pills like so many models did. A girl had to blow off steam somehow, and, well, it had been a while. That was probably half the reason she was being so uncharacteristically emotional. She grinned and fired off another text.
But that’s okay, because you know what I always say.
Wendy’s return text quoting Gia’s motto came promptly.
One man is as good as another.
Gia could practically hear Wendy’s signature cackle. Then her friend sent a more serious text.
I’m sorry I kind of betrayed the cause.
After Elise and Jane fell victim to the wedding bug, Wendy and Gia had enjoyed a brief period of solidarity as the single ladies in the group, and Wendy had, like Gia, always been realistic about romance.
Or she used to be.
Nah. There’s no cause. I’m just glad you’re happy. Noah’s great, and you deserve each other. And I’m going to get this goddamned dress to you if it’s the last thing I do.
After pressing send, she thought back to her motto. There was a groomsman she didn’t know down there, probably lolling on the beach right now.
Remind me who else is in this wedding party?
Wendy must have gotten her drift, because she sent an eye-rolling emoji and then:
Well, you know, Cameron. So that’s not going to work out for you.
Gia actually did roll her eyes. Cameron was Jane’s husband, which made him Noah’s brother-in-law. He was also brother to Jay, Elise’s husband, which made him Elise’s brother-in-law, too. Her friends and their tangled web.
Who else is in this wedding party that isn’t married to one of my best friends? You might have betrayed the cause, but have some sympathy for the last woman standing. The last woman standing who hasn’t gotten laid in a long time. Who’s the extra guy again? What’s his story?
He’s a friend of Noah’s from law school, but I don’t think he’s really your type.
Why not?
Kinda prickly. A bit domineering.
Gia’s face heated. She thought about Bennett at work in his restaurant last night. She could use exactly those terms to describe him, and that certainly hadn’t stopped her.
What’s his name?
Tobias.
Full name?
Tobias Almanza. And you know, he lives in England, so you could hit him up when you’re in Europe working. A man in every port sort of thing. LOL. But maybe that would violate the rule. Is there a distance exception to your whole one-and-done, two-and-through thing?
Gia didn’t actually have a rule. Well, okay, she did kind of have a rule, but she hadn’t given it that stupid name. Her friends had come up with that. She stood by the principle, though. Since she wasn’t looking for a long-term thing, she would just as soon not be with a guy who was going to fetishize her for her looks or get all weird and swaggery about dating a model. The circles she had to run in were full of men who liked to collect models, and in the post-Lukas era, she’d die a million fiery deaths before she’d be collected. Even the odd less-gross man who didn’t start out that way ended up starstruck, ended up subtly showing her off. Insisting they go to a certain restaurant whether she wanted to or not—that kind of thing. It was a subtle form of control, but no less insidious for its subtlety. Sometimes, to entertain herself, she would test guys. A couple months ago, for example, after a fun hookup with a stock trader, he’d asked her out. She’d shown up for the date wearing sweatpants and no makeup—which she’d actually done because she liked him.
They’d been going to some stupid finance-industry party. Watching Mr. Wall Street stammer his way through suggesting that she was underdressed—and then, when she didn’t take the “hint,” suddenly develop a “migraine” that prevented them from going to the party—had been amusing but also reinforced her stance on things. Had cured her of any lingering crush—forcing a guy to show his hand generally had that effect.
Whenever she felt herself getting too fond of a particular guy, she set up these kinds of tests.
They always failed.
So Gia’s modus operandi was to shamelessly use her beauty to snag a guy, but then, before he could get too fixated on that same beauty, to cut him loose. It might sound a little mercenary, but it got her needs met.
One-and-done, two-and-through usually meant once. But if the guy totally rocked her world, she wasn’t averse to a repeat performance. Any more than that generally made things messy, and disentanglement became an issue. The third time was not the charm for Gia—the third time was a time too many.
And since she was a perpetual globe-trotter, it was a system that worked for her. So, no, To
bias Almanza was not going to be her man in London, as Wendy was suggesting, but she was not opposed to making friends with him in Florida once.
Or twice.
She googled him. The name was unique enough that she got only a few hits. She clicked on his LinkedIn. Hello! Even from the formal corporate portrait, she could tell that Tobias Almanza would do just fine.
And the odds were that Tobias Almanza, unlike Bennett Buchanan, would not be immune to her looks. She’d be on firmer footing.
She just had to get there.
She lifted her chin, assessed her appearance in the mirror, and found it up to snuff. With a fluff of her badass blue hair, she headed back out to deal with that problem.
“Hey.”
Gia shrieked and jumped. Bennett was standing right outside the ladies’ room. Her face got hot. She felt, irrationally, like he’d been privy to her text conversation with Wendy, but that was ridiculous. Unless he was a hacker in addition to a chef, her secrets were safe.
“Let’s drive,” he said.
“What?”
“Forget flying. Let’s just hit the road.”
“What?” she said again. She’d been prepared to do battle—nicely; maybe a little more nicely than she would have without an audience—again with the airline. It had never occurred to her that they could just take matters into their own hands. She spent so much of her time in cities like New York and Paris that she sometimes forgot that driving was a viable option in the regular world.
“Hear me out,” Bennett said. “I spoke to an agent. They can book us on a flight out tomorrow evening, but the storm is just starting here; there’s no guarantee that flight will actually depart. Florida seems far, but actually, St. Pete’s is only a seventeen-hour drive from here—maybe a bit longer with bad weather. If we hit the road now with a goal of getting a couple hours under our belt, we can clear D.C.—hopefully ahead of the storm that’s coming—find a place to stay, and then make a big push tomorrow. Even if we have to stay one more night on the road, we can still make it by Wednesday morning, easy.”
Gia blinked, astonished by this plan. “That is—”
He must have thought she was going to protest, because he cut her off. “Look. The way I see it, we can either cool our heels for twenty-four hours and have no idea if the flight we’re waiting for will work out, or we can rent a car and head south. Take matters into our own hands.”
“—the best idea I’ve heard in a long time.”
It was Bennett’s turn to blink. He hadn’t been prepared for her to acquiesce so easily.
“We’ve been talking and talking about this damn problem,” she said. “I hate talking. Give me a man of action any day.”
A smile blossomed, and he held out an arm like he actually was the star of a Reese Witherspoon rom-com. “Then we’re off to the rental counters.”
* * *
They weren’t the only ones who’d decided to take matters into their own hands, judging by the lines at the car rental places. Bennett and Gia had split up—after exchanging phone numbers, each went to stand in a different line, hoping that should one company prove not fruitful, they’d have another option.
Bennett’s phone buzzed.
They only have a Mini Cooper here.
He thought back to the big white blob he’d seen bearing down on them when he checked the weather before hatching this plan.
I was kind of hoping for something a little more…robust.
No kidding. Also…is this a bad time to tell you that I just realized my driver’s license is going to expire the day after tomorrow? They won’t rent it to me.
He eyed the counter ahead of him. There were two people in line before it was his turn. Taking a page from Gia’s playbook, he elbowed his way up to the desk. Not to get all demanding, though; just to hear what was going on.
What was going on was an argument about how early tomorrow a car could be procured.
Mini Cooper it is. I and my valid driver’s license will be right there.
“You didn’t tell me it was a convertible,” Bennett said fifteen minutes later as a pimply-faced kid tried to hand him the keys to a what seemed more like a toy car than an actual one.
“That’s because they didn’t tell me it was a convertible.” Gia’s eyes were wide as she took in the tiny turquoise insult to real cars everywhere.
“You don’t have to put the top down,” said the kid, and Bennett rolled his eyes as he prevented himself from saying, “No duh.”
“You still want it?”
“Yes,” Gia said. “We want it.”
What had he been thinking, to suggest they try to outrun a storm? He tried not to panic. He really did.
But he must not have been doing a very good job, because a few minutes after they had driven off the lot and into the flurries, she said, softly, “Hey.” He glanced at her quickly but then back at the road, such as it was—all he could do was follow in the tire tracks ahead of him because the actual boundaries of the road were obscured by blowing snow.
“If it’s too much, we can find a place to stop and try again tomorrow. At least we got a car. That’s progress.”
He shook his head. “If the storm is moving west and we’re going south, it has to be only a matter of time before we’re clear of it, no?”
Logic. That was the logical interpretation of their situation. Yes, the conditions weren’t great, but if he went slowly and was careful, they’d be fine.
They’d turned the radio on in the hopes of finding a traffic report, but since the road was mostly deserted, he reached over and switched it off, wanting to eliminate all distractions. But taking one hand off the steering wheel called his attention to how badly he was white-knuckling it.
“Wendy told me she can get the dress fitting pushed back, so we really don’t have to—”
“I’m fine, okay?” he snapped and immediately regretted it, because she didn’t deserve that tone from him. That’s how he talked to his staff, and only when they were being idiots.
She sucked in a breath and looked away from him, out the window into the white.
Shit. He sighed and unclenched his jaw.
“I was in a horrible car accident when I was seventeen.” He had no fucking idea why he was telling her this. It wasn’t like he owed her an explanation. Anyone would be on edge driving in these conditions. “The woman in the other car almost died.”
“Ohhh,” she said slowly, turning back to look at him. “Were you driving?”
“No. My girlfriend was. But only because we’d decided she was less shit-faced than I was.”
Her eyes were wide. He had shocked her with his candor. “Oh God. Bennett, I’m so sorry. What happened?”
“I watched the paramedics work on her for what seemed like an hour. She coded. It was just like in the movies.” He hadn’t been too high to panic. He still remembered the terrible sinking feeling in his gut, the metallic taste in his mouth. It had been one of those crystalline moments when you’re in it but also watching it happen from outside, aware that everything is about to change. “They eventually loaded her into the ambulance without having stabilized her. I found out later that she’d made it.” And when he’d had to face her in court, all he could see was her lying on the pavement, the life seeming to bleed out of her before his eyes.
“And what happened after that?” Gia asked softly.
“My parents—I come from serious old southern money—hired a gold-plated defense team, and I got off entirely. My girlfriend—Grace—was not so lucky. She went to juvie for a year.” His stomach churned as he let the memories in. “I tried to get everyone to understand that it was just as much my fault as hers—she was behind the wheel, but in terms of everything that put us into that car, we were equally culpable. Hell, I was more culpable. I was high as a kite on coke, whereas she’d just smoked a joint and had a couple shots.”
The shame was as heavy as ever, pressing on his windpipe. It made no sense, but he almost felt worse about the way he’
d used Grace than about almost killing someone.
He glanced at Gia again. She was listening attentively and didn’t appear to be in any rush to interrupt him with false comfort like others usually did when they heard his tale of woe. And, strangely, that made Bennett relax a little—both mentally and in terms of the pressure on his throat—so he kept going.
“The lawyers spun it out like I was this golden boy, son of the South with huge potential that would be derailed if I went to jail, when really I was just an entitled addict. All my parents’ powerful friends, including a US senator and an NCAA Division I basketball coach, wrote character references.” God, just saying the words, even after all these years, made his tongue turn bitter. “It was utter bullshit. I was so fucking pissed. But I was also scared. And no one would listen to me. You know how you hear the term white privilege? Or male privilege?”
“Yes.”
“It was that. Both of those things. A woman almost died because I thought I was too fucking invincible to call a taxi, and I paid no price for it.”
“But Grace didn’t get off?” Gia asked the question like she could see inside his head.
“Since she was driving, there was no way she was going to get off entirely, but they got her sentence way down.” He couldn’t help letting loose a snort of disgust at himself. “So she drives in my place because I’m way more fucked up than she is. I get off, and she goes to prison.” He had almost killed one woman, and sent another to prison.
Gia whistled. “That’s got to be tough.”
It was, but it wasn’t anything that was worthy of pity. Even though he had lived with the guilt every single day since, it was no less than what he deserved. So he merely shrugged.
“So what did you do?”
He thought about not answering, about changing the subject, but hell, why stop now?
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